


Gods and Monsters

by FEARxTHExDRAGON



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Ancient Artifacts, Ancient Temples, Arundel the War Horse, Bran the Mabari, Bro bonding, Darkspawn, Desert Dancing, Dragon-slaying, Dwarves, Elf-Blooded, Elves, F/M, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Hunting, Implied Lavellan/Solas, M/M, Mabari Puppies, Master Ferdinand is an epic teacher, Minor Original Character(s), Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Oghren gets smashed, Post-Game(s), The Calling, Zevran being a Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FEARxTHExDRAGON/pseuds/FEARxTHExDRAGON
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In lands uncharted and unknown, she searches for a cure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An exploration of what happened to The Hero of Ferelden post Inquisition in her quest to end The Calling for all Grey Wardens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods and Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I have had this idea in my head for quite some time and thought it would be an interesting thing to explore. Ronan was one of my favorite play-through's of Origins and I wish she could have made a bigger impact in Inquisition but I totally understand 'why' the warden was not present. Regardless, these are her tales and adventures from post game! ( and a little during ) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

It seemed endless. The golden hills rolled and shifted in hot wind like a slow moving ocean. Grains of sand beat down on any exposed flesh, and the sun was just as relenting. It glared down on the small caravan with no mercy, hoping to roast them in their clothing. Their animals foamed at the mouth from the exertion, dehydrated and just as weary as the ones who held their reigns. Through the slits in her face coverings, Ronan still had to squint against the brightness of the desert. For a moment she stood still, the winds beating down against her frame before a fist went to the sky. Those behind her stopped instantly, faithfully awaiting their next order. Another figure in greys and blacks came to stand beside her; slightly smaller with a masculine frame. It was several beats of silence before she spoke " There is shelter not far from here." She almost had to shout to be heard by her companion "We will stay there until the storm subsides" The figure nodded, returning to the side of one of the animals that pulled a covered wagon. 

Five years ago, all of this was but a simple thought; a dream. 

She knew from the moment she drank that damn blood her days were numbered. The Calling would come and take her, just like it took every Warden who didn't fall in battle. Ronan dreaded the nightmares to come, for if they were to be anything like those she experienced during the Blight, well...She shook her head for a moment, stepping carefully down the shifting dune. She slid once or twice, her hands shooting out to steady her as if it were reflex now. And when she was safe at the bottom, she made sure to aide her caravan as best she could. They carried various things but all necessary, tent supplies, several tomes they'd found in their travels, maps and rations. A few letters from those back home explaining the situation in the Kingdom and in all of Thedas. 

As she turned to head up the other dunes, Ronan couldn't help but still feel guilty. She should have been there to help, to give her aid in some way, shape or form to the Inquisition. She should have been there to bash in the heads of the unfaithful Wardens, to be what they called her--a hero. But she couldn't. Ronan could remember that day vividly. They had stumbled upon an old fortress lost to time, buried deep in the stone of the mountains to the north of where they were now. A falcon had flown in with a letter attached to it's back. One of her men had swiftly brought it to her, out of breath and shaking from running up the hillside. He was a red-head like her brother, with eyes like the evergreens of Highever. He'd handed her the parchment with such delicacy, that at first Ronan had thought it from the King himself. How wrong she'd been. It was from an old friend, detailing the current state and all the chaos that it birthed. She remembered she read it several times in disbelief, before dropping it on the table as if it had been some plague infested corpse. And then she stared at it, long and hard. Her mind went to the word Archdemon, images flashed in her eyes of the fight over Denerim a decade ago and she prayed; oh how she prayed that another Blight was not on their doorstep. It was then she knew she couldn't return. She heard it then, more than she had before--a whisper of an eerie song. 

The Calling. 

It's why she had come here and it was why she couldn't leave. It was why she was still pushing on, even in these harsh conditions. But most of all, it was to prevent this sort of thing from ever happening again. Over two more dunes they went, sliding with little grace along the golden sands before the sudden stark walls could be seen. They rose like teeth from the earth with small crystals embedded in the stones. It wasn't ideal, but it would simply have to do. "Here" She spoke loud enough for the closest of her men to hear. "We will move on later" There was no denying the tiredness in her own voice. Her hands went to work tying up the mounts and work horses, pulling down several boxes as others sought out dry-wood for a fire come nightfall. Two left the camp to scout for water, another two went to secure the perimeter. They were a well oiled machine and she could not have asked for better men. As she went to unload the last of the crates, a sudden movement caught her eye before the resounding sounds and collision to her upper body registered. "Rawerrr!" It was the voice of a child, the arms of a child and the laughter of a child that made her smile. Her own arms went around him tightly, holding him close as he laughed. His own tiny hands pulled back the coverings to reveal her tattered smile. His eyes briefly scanned the massive scar that ran alongside her face, as if he'd forgotten it existed. "I got you this time!" He exclaimed "Were you scared Mommy?" 

"Terrified" She feigned fright, amused by her son's actions " I thought my son'd turned into a nasty little dragonling! What a shame that would have been" She gasped as he giggled, "And just look at you! Covered in filth" He gave her a big toothy grin. He was a rather small child, even for one of his age. His hair was a platinum gold and his eyes were like the stormy ocean while freckles covered the bridge of his nose. "Where is Bran?"As if on cue the old war hound lifted his head from off the wooden floor of the cart. He huffed out a bark from his graying muzzle, getting to his four legs still rather gracefully. He moved to his master's outstretched hand and nudged it, before nudging the leg of the boy in her arms. "Hello old boy" She muttered softly. He huffed before jumping down to the sand. 

"When can I get a puppy Mommy?" Her son asked. "I want one just like Bran"

She smiled again "When you are old enough to understand how to fully take care of a Mabari" She put her son down, his hand slipping into hers "Aedan, why don't you go wait by those boxes so I can finish unloading these?" A delicate finger poked his button nose. "When I'm done I'll pitch the tent--"

"Commander" one of her men cut her short, bowing at the waist rigidly. He waited for the curt nod of her head to continue "We found something that you may want to see"

* * *

It wasn't far from where they camped and rose from the ground suddenly. The sentinel statues were still mostly put together, with one only missing a head and the other it's iconic spear. They were half buried in the sand, and the bridge was all but destroyed. But the entrance was still there from what she could tell, far on the horizon where the mountains rose in the distance. The desert changed about half way there, turning from gold to dry brown and finally to slate-grey. The sun was setting behind them now, casting their shadows in oddly stretched figures. The landscapes seemed to glitter. "Are you sure this is the one?" She asked one of her men. 

He nodded furiously "I'm sure Commander, it matches the description perfectly." He added in his thick accent "Sent several of the boys in to document the paintings, see if they match up too" He spit out of the corner of his mouth and his horse chomped at the bit nervously. 

"I don't like this place" The other to her left spoke. He was a young lad, probably one of the youngest. "Someth'n about it makes my skin crawl"

"Jus' you wait till we go in there" The older one spoke with a smirk "I betchu you'll be pissing yourself before we even get past the sentinels." He laughed a deep laugh, itching at his nose and rubbing at his dirty face. "So, Commander, What's out next move?"

She thought for a moment, a free hand playing with a piece of her mare's creme mane "Wait for the other's to come back with report " She started "Then come back to camp." Her hands went to the reigns and tugged slightly. "Let the men rest for a while, we've traveled far" Her mare turned and gave a snort "Give me a report as soon as you can" Her heels dug into the sides of Arundel, and the mare took off with grace and speed. Her mind raced with her faithful horse, her heart beating liquid fire in her veins. They were so close now, she could feel it in her every fiber. It had been months since they'd left their old excavation site, and since then nothing had seemed to turn up. By the time she reached the camp, the sun had been swallowed by the horizon and the last of it's light faded. The men had started several small fires, one had even pitched her tent for her in her absence. In the past five years, she had learned to call them all family; they were all her brothers and sisters. Her cloudy grey-blue eyes spotted her son and the master seated by a fire. She slid from the back of Arundel and pulled the saddle off with ease tying her lead to the post. With swift strides she plopped the saddle down and used it as a seat next to her son. 

"Mommy!"

"My Lady" He bowed his shaky head. Master Ferdinand was a man past his prime with a mind still as sharp as any knife and eyes that could cut through steel. He was dressed in long robes of brown and green and around his neck hung a small chain of gold. His hair was white and half missing, and his beard braided and long. His skin was wrinkled and droopy, dappled with sun-spots. His nose and cheeks were visibly sun burned. 

"Have you eaten Aedan?" The little boy nodded, and before she could speak to him again he was off to the next fire. She sighed a little, watching him play with Bran in the dimming light. In her lap was placed half a roasted fowl, and the Master nodded in encouragement for her to eat. 

"You of all of us should keep up your strength" He smiled gently. A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again "The boy never stops"

"No, that he doesn't" She chortled, picking off a piece of charred skin to pop it into her mouth "I can hardly get him to lay down and sleep at night"

Master Ferdinand chuckled "He is a good lad" His hands folded into the long sleeves of his robe, disappearing. "He has your spirit, there is no denying that." He heard her short laugh and knew she eye-rolled. "And he has his Father's heart"

Ronan's smile faded then, and she put the food down. 

"My Lady?" He questioned, shifting to get a better look at her face by firelight. It was stoic, void of any emotion. The Master sighed "You miss him?"

She turned to face him, her blue-grey eyes colder than before. Ronan was searching his face, searching for something that he could not give and she could not answer then. Her mouth pressed into a firm line before she turned and tossed the fowl into the fire with little care. Abruptly she stood, walking over to her son. She knelt down to his level, speaking quietly. He nodded, took hold of her hand as she stood and the two entered her tent. The Master only sighed and shook his head, pulling his robes tighter.

* * *

"Mommy," Aedan rubbed tiredly at his eyes as she pulled the blanket over them "Will you tell me a story?" 

She smiled, "Alright" Ronan tucked a few stray strands of platinum hair behind her ears. "What would you like to hear?"

She watched her son's expression. His eyes were fixed on the scar upon her face, curiously wondering. She could see the wheels turning in his head, for a couple years now it was always like that when he saw it. Perhaps, he had simply forgotten it was there after she'd covered her face for so long against the desert wind. His eyes moved along the scar, from hairline to eyebrow, eyebrow to eye an eye lid, cheek to lip and lip to chin then onto neck. "Will you tell me about that?" He pointed to it. 

"My scar?"

He nodded. 

"Why would you want to know about that?" She couldn't help but chuckle at such a request. He shrugged. "Alright" She sighed, snuggling closer as Bran shifted at their feet. "It happened many years ago, when the Kingdom was threatened by a dangerous plague..."


End file.
